


Voices 01 - Voice of Reason

by elixia13



Series: Voice Series [2]
Category: The X-Files
Genre: Angst, Hospital, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-29
Updated: 2010-01-29
Packaged: 2017-10-06 18:57:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,043
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/56779
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elixia13/pseuds/elixia13
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mulder's view of some of the events in SR-819.  Assumes<br/>a previous relationship between Mulder and Skinner.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Voices 01 - Voice of Reason

**Author's Note:**

> I'm writing this under the assumption that SR-819  
> happened after Tithonus. I know SR-819 aired first, but Tithonus  
> comes first in the episode numbering. Also, Tithonus actually  
> includes a date--January 4, meaning that it must occur very soon  
> after How the Ghosts... It doesn't seem like SR-819 could have  
> occurred before all of that, so I'm placing it afterwards in the  
> ever-confusing XF timeline.

It was a night so boring I didn't even want to bother going home.  
I mean, Must-See TV isn't a big draw for me, so I decided to stay  
at work. I was hoping something would go down; maybe I could  
grab an interesting case before it got passed on to one of the  
bureau's bright and shining ones. I didn't expect what happened.  
I didn't expect it to be him.

I was reviewing some case files at my desk when I heard someone  
coming down the hall. I was pretty damn surprised to see that it  
was Walter, especially since he wasn't walking with his usual  
ramrod-straight step. I felt a little of that worry, that old  
fear for him, come creeping into my stomach. I had to  
investigate. After all, he'd been there for me in Bermuda. Too  
bad I didn't have any flowers on hand.

I headed into his office expecting to see him at his desk,  
hurriedly gathering up some things to take home, no time for  
Mulder. But there he was. In the flesh. Sliding against the  
black leather of his secretary's couch. He looked like shit,  
honestly, but he still managed that gruff front I've always loved  
so much.

"What is it, Agent Mulder?"

I think he was trying like hell to hold me back, keep me away  
from him when he might be too weak to resist a little comfort. I  
had to pry a little to get him to tell me what was going on, but  
he finally spilled. He told me he was having trouble seeing and  
didn't think he ought to drive. "It's nothing" he said.

Nothing, yeah, I was figuring nothing but a concussion or a  
stroke or clinical exhaustion or something. I never would have  
guessed. He didn't seem to want my help, so I had to force the  
issue. Ask him if he was going to be alright. I'm so used to  
Scully and her "I'm fine" line that my heart about stopped when  
he didn't answer.

I let about thirty long seconds go by before I asked again,  
"Walter, are you going to be okay or do we need to go to a  
hospital here?"

"Mulder, just give me some space please, I'm fine." Ha! I'd  
heard that one before, but he continued. "I just got *out* of  
the emergency room at St. Katherine's, and the doctor cleared me.  
I got knocked out boxing, but I'm none the worse for wear." Then  
he sighed, and that sigh sounded so old. "I think I'm just  
tired."

I didn't believe that for a minute. The man's got ten years on  
me, but I'd never seen him like this. He always managed not only  
to keep up with me, but to keep me on my toes. So I sat down  
next to him on the edge of the couch, hoping my proximity would  
get the truth out of him.

I'd barely set one cheek on the upholstery, when he gasped and  
pulled away from me, protecting his side tenderly. I didn't  
understand. "Walter, what the hell? What is it?"

When he got his voice back, I almost regretted it. "Jesus  
Christ, Mulder, why don't you sit on top of me?!?"

I might have enjoyed being growled at if it hadn't been for the  
pain I could see in his face. I protested my innocence, and he  
motioned for me to pull up his shirt to look at his side.

Forgive me, but as I held the hem of that soft,wrinkled cotton it  
felt for a moment like we were together again. Like we had never  
stopped spending the nights in each other's arms. But then I  
lifted the shirt above his belt and saw the mottled, angry purple  
bruise instead of the smooth slightly tanned skin I remember. I  
touched it lightly with one finger and he gasped again, his  
stomach muscles flinching.

I tried to be sensible. "Walter, this looks nasty. Why don't  
you let me drive you home so you can take some Advil and rest?"  
He clearly didn't find that an acceptible option.

"Mulder, please stop it! Just go back to whatever the hell you  
were doing in the bullpen. I can take care of myself." I  
reached out a hand to his shoulder, but he was on a roll. "First  
I've got a psycho threatening me and now I've got you mothering  
me. I don't really know which is worse. Leave. My office. Now."

Taking the hint, I turned on my heel to leave. And then I  
realized what he'd said. "Um, sir, I think you left out the part  
about 'a psycho' threatening you. What are you talking about?" I  
paused for effect, using a little of what Scully calls my  
kicked-puppy look. "Or is that just another way to get me out of  
your office?"

I could tell from his face that I'd caught him. "Shit," he said  
quietly and took a long breath. "Mulder, I didn't want to say  
anything about this because it's entirely too far up your alley,  
but I know you'll never let me alone now. While I was at the  
hospital tonight, I received a phone call. A computerized voice  
telling me I had 24 hours to live. It's clearly just bullshit,  
but it didn't exactly improve my lovely night. Now, I am going  
home. If the only way you'll let me go is to drive me, I can  
accept that. But you will then go home yourself and leave me  
alone."

I couldn't believe what I was hearing. "A voice told you you had  
24 hours to live? And you expect me to take you home? I don't  
think so." I pulled my phone out of my pocket and called Scully.  
She'd been getting ready for bed, but when I told her what was  
going on she agreed to come in. I really couldn't keep the  
concern and slight tinge of panic out of my voice, so she knew it  
was serious. At least there shouldn't be much traffic this time  
of night.

I turned back to Walter who had his arm over his eyes again. I  
rested my hand on his smooth, damp head, and his arm pulled away  
to reveal squinted eyes. "What now, Mulder?"

I tried to act calm, and I hoped it was convincing. "Why don't  
you try to get some rest? I have a feeling your exciting evening  
isn't over just yet, but there's nothing we can do until the doc  
arrives. I'll stay here with you." I expected to get an  
argument, but he looked at me with something like gratitude and  
let his eyes drop shut. I retreated to the desk where I could  
watch him.

 

^^^

Of course I'd just called Scully so that meant I had about half  
an hour to perch on a desk and watch my ex-lover sleep. Knowing  
that he could be dying, and I might not be able to stop it.  
Another person I love was in pain because of me, and I'm really,  
really tired of that. So, I watched him, his bulk overwhelming  
the small sofa, his shirt untucked and partially unbuttoned. If  
I suspended reality just a little, I could imagine he was draped  
over my leather couch at home, worn out and rumpled from an  
evening spent with me.

It happened a few times that we ended up at my place and I got to  
watch him like that. Standing in my living room with a cup of  
coffee in my hands, watching his wonderful chest rise and fall,  
looking at his slim hips angled on the leather, his whole face  
relaxed in sleep. He was so beautiful and sensual at those  
moments that it was worth missing sleep to see him. And then I  
might walk over and kneel on the floor next to the couch. Put my  
hands on those hips and move my lips to that chest of his and  
start feeling my way down with my lips and tongue.

I was shifting a little on the desk imagining doing that to him  
now when I came back to reality with a panic. If I had held him  
like that right then, he'd have pulled away from me, and not just  
in pain. Things had already gone sour with us by the time last  
year when Scully helped me fake my death, but that event sealed  
it. The last nails in the coffin of our relationship, as such.  
And yet, maybe not. I know I've never been able to bring myself  
to hate him. When Scully thought he was the mole, I knew it  
could never be true. He's too good of a man for that.

Actually, I think that's why he decided to end it, finally. At  
first, I had been the one initiating the distance between us. I  
was just so angry, at him and everyone else. Scully was dying  
and the world seemed incredibly dark. He didn't seem ready to  
let me go, until the "suicide". It was then, just as I was ready  
to reach out to him again, that he cut me loose. I think he did  
it for his own sanity, and I really don't blame him. He was  
decent to me as AD, even if he did hand me over to Kersh a bit  
readily. Again, I can't blame him. I'm a pain in the ass.

Scully told me that he seriously came through for her when I was  
lost in the triangle, and that's another example of how fine a  
man he is. That he came down there himself, and brought those  
silly flowers to me, well, it made me start to hope again. Hope  
that he was changing his mind, that he wanted me back in his life  
again. I just couldn't broach the subject because the hope, even  
without the reality, wass much better than his rejection would  
have been.

I heard the ding of the elevator then and pulled myself out of my  
reverie in preparation for Scully's entrance and whatever would  
come afterwards.

 

^^^

Scully swept into the office like the caped crusader on a  
mission, and I must say that I was pleased to see her. I was  
even more pleased to see her practicing her bed-side manner on  
someone other than me, for once. I briefed her on his condition  
and then held the light up for her. I tried to keep it out of  
his eyes, but there was only so much I could do and still light  
up that horrible bruise.

She started questioning him about what he'd eaten that day, and I  
felt that fear again. That worry I felt earlier crept in further  
and wrapped itself around my spine. Walter was unconvinced,  
clearly. He asked why someone would call to let him know. "To  
see who you'd turn to," I told him, and he responded, "Oh, this  
is about you."

For a moment that hurt, that it seemed to bother him, the  
assumption that he might turn to me. I diverted him from me to  
the x-files, but he came right back, poking at me for my  
paranoia. I knew he was hurting, but it was getting too  
personal. I had to shut my emotions down and get to the bottom  
of the situation.

I know he was pissed at me for asking about his sleeping  
arrangements, but it was topical. So what if I was interested in  
his answer for my own reasons? I would have asked it anyway. I  
only wish the problem had been a case of a sweet young somebody  
slipping him a bucket of bad oysters.

So, with Scully's help, we bought a clue, went down to security.  
Scully identified Dr. Orgel from the tape log, and with his name  
and address in hand, I was ready to bolt. Scully was right when  
she said he needed to be under a doctor's care, but I also knew  
that if it were me I would die more quickly sitting in one place  
just waiting for someone else to save me. So, he took off, and I  
made it clear that I was going with him. I gave a brief moment  
of thanks to Scully for being there to cover the medical end and  
pointed the car north towards Maryland.

^^^

It was a short drive, and he wouldn't talk to me. He just kept  
staring out the windsheid like he was trying to beam us there  
mentally or something. I drove as fast as I dared, passing cars  
on the half-empty beltway, trying to keep my right hand from  
straying from my own lap to his. I wanted to touch him and tell  
him it would be okay. I also would have liked to feel him, his  
warm, strong leg under the wool of his pants, to know he was  
alive for now at least.

But I didn't have any right to touch him that way. I gave up the  
right to do that when I shot the face of off Scott Osselhoff and  
asked Scully to tell Skinner it was me. She never would have  
done it if she'd known.

^^^

At first I thought it was Orgel--that he'd dreamed up whatever  
was wrong with Walter and poisoned him, and I was ready to bash  
the front door through that man's head. However, I knew as soon  
as we started talking to him that it was more complex than that.  
Orgel was afraid, and not primarily of us, so there had to be  
another party involved.

I sent Walter around back, hoping that I'd be able to get the  
information out of Orgel without him getting involved, but then  
those bastards shot at me. By the time I got inside, Walter was  
down and my heart seized up, while my mind wanted to go running  
after the other men. He roared at me to go, and I had to obey.  
When I finally chased down Mr. Ponytail, I seriously wanted to  
pound his head into the street, but I had to get back to the  
house. To Walter.

As I pulled the gunman up the stairs, Walter walked out of the  
door. I got the impression that however he was managing to hold  
himself together before, it was costing him much more. I wished  
I knew what had happened to him inside the house. Then the  
ponytailed man starting cursing at him, and it was just to much.  
Walter was barely standing up; he really didn't need to be spit  
on by that slimey sonofabitch.

Then the man--excuse me, *diplomat*--was gone, and I really  
wished I had some diplomatic papers of my own. It might really  
help me out, all the trouble I get in. Anyway, Walter started  
giving me orders, handing me the facts, getting ready to be on  
his way, when I saw his neck. Even in the shadowy streetlight, I  
could see that it was wrong. It looked like the bruise on his  
ribcage had looked, but even worse, like the veins were making  
their way to the surface. It also looked like it hurt a lot, and  
I could hear the pain in his raspy voice.

I reached out to pull his collar aside, get a better look, and  
all the while I was trying not to think about how I would kiss  
that neck while running my hands over his shoulders. I told him  
he needed to be in a hospital, hoping he would decline. I wanted  
to give him the option, so that if he was feeling really bad he'd  
have an out. I was actually glad when he pushed me away, but I  
was scared for him too. I didn't want him out there without me  
on his back, but there didn't seem to be any choice.

I needed to learn more about Orgel, and he needed to follow up on  
Mr. Ponytail, excuse me, Lazreg, and his cohorts. Walter took  
off at a jog, and I wondered how he did it. He must have been  
one hell of a Marine.

^^^

I spent a couple hours with our friends the local police and went  
through Orgels papers. Unfortunately for the good doctor, I  
didn't think he was going to be around to worry about a ransacked  
filing cabinet.

Then, I earned myself some more brownie points by disturbing  
Senator Matheson's beauty sleep, but he didn't give me anything.  
So, I headed back to where it all began--the Hoover building. I  
was in the elevator on the way to Walter's office when my phone  
rang. It was Scully telling me that she was with him in the  
hospital. That he'd collapsed in the parking deck, that he was  
in critical condition.

In a blind panic I started pulling out his desk drawers, getting  
into anything I could, looking for a clue, an answer--anything.  
Luckily for me and the furniture, his assistant came along with  
the morning mail and my catch of the day.

^^^

As I walked into the hospital, I couldn't help but thinking of  
how many times I'd been in places like this over the last few  
years. As I was coming around on the ICU, I felt that old,  
familiar fear reach up and choke me. The sight of Scully's pale,  
drained body floated before me, along with the memory of Walter  
pulling me back, away.

And then I saw Scully standing by his bed in her scrubs. She  
came out to talk to me, and I could tell how scared she was. I  
couldn't keep myself from looking over her shoulder at him, his  
bulk improbably small under the sheets. Even from outside the  
room, I could see that the strange bruising had spread to his  
arms. Scully was standing there telling me that he was dying,  
that he might well die, and I couldn't stand that. I wanted to  
go in and see him, touch him, feel that he was alive, but then  
the nurse brought us his chirping cell phone.

As the synthesized voice started talking, my pulse rate doubled  
and the anger I'd been holding back all evening could no longer  
be restrained. I could smell him; I knew the bastard was close.  
So what did I do?

I went pounding down the stairs after Mr. Pantene, held my gun on  
a nurse and ended up with a very usless piece of hair. I just  
let those people yell at me because I certainly knew I deserved  
it. I paid some more penance by listening to the vehicle tech's  
thrilling details about tire markings, but he finally gave me  
something useful and I was off once more.

What I was trying to make myself forget was that I still hadn't  
gotten close to Walter, much less gotten close to finding a cure  
for him. Scully had said he was dying, and Scully knew her  
stuff. Scully, granted, usually only works on dead people, but  
then according to Mr. Pantene, Skinner was already dead. Not a  
good train of thought.

^^^

Matheson, of course, continued to disappoint me. There was a  
time when he helped me, more than I ever could have asked for.  
He was a friend of my father's from his time in the state  
department, and I think he felt sorry for me. I guess that only  
worked when I was young and cute and meekly in awe of my  
superiors. He handed me the line of the day, that Walter was  
already dead, and it took every bit of control I had not to  
scream at him to shut up. I knew I had to get out of there and  
back to the hospital because if Walter was going to die I had to  
at least be there.

When Matheson started whining behind me about how he was a  
victim, I lost the last shred of respect I had for him. He  
really had meant a lot to me; once I had hoped to become a man  
like him, using authority for good. This is what happens to my  
idols.

^^^

I met Scully at the hospital, and as soon as I saw her I knew it  
wasn't good.

"We've done all we can, Mulder. We're still trying a new  
procedure on him, but it's very risky. It would be worth the  
risk if it saved him, but it doesn't seem to be helping him at  
all. These things in his bloodstream are working against us  
faster than we can fight them, and we're losing. From the way it  
looks right now, we're going to lose."

Scully, stalwart Scully, teetered on the brink of tears, and I  
felt no better. We'd both been running all night to find a way  
to save Walter, and we hadn't gotten anywhere. Scully told me  
then about her conversation with Skinner, and I wanted to scream.  
I didn't want his apologies; I wanted *him*. I convinced Scully  
to go get something from the cafeteria while I headed up to see  
Walter. Before it was too late.

When I stepped into his room, I had to brace myself against the  
wall to stop everything from spinning. He looked, my god, like  
he wasn't even human anymore, lurid purple lines criss-crossed  
his body, his face. I walked over to his bed, and when he opened  
his eyes it was all Walter, entirely too human.

I hate it like hell when I cry, but I couldn't help myself. The  
tears started to fall and I found myself begging him to forgive  
me. "I'm sorry, Walter, I'm so sorry. There's nothing else I can  
do. I'm so sorry." I wasn't just apologizing for my failure to  
save him, but for all my other failures as well. He met my  
eyes then and started to talk, his mellifluous baritone reduced  
to a raspy whisper.

"Mulder, stop it, please," he said, "We don't have time for all  
the things you're sorry for." Damn him, he knew me too well. He  
continued, "This is not your fault Mulder; I know you've done  
everything you could." He paused to draw in a pained breath.  
"I'm sorry for some things, too."

He closed his eyes, and I began to panic, but then he opened then  
again. "It's not that I didn't love you Mulder. The problem was  
that you couldn't love yourself." Leaving me with that, his eyes  
slid shut and the nurse made me leave so he could rest.

Before leaving, I quickly, softly touched my lips to his  
forehead. His eyes did not open.

^^^

After a trip to the men's room to wash my face, I found Scully in  
the cafeteria. I got myself a coffee and sat with her. Our  
faces must have been like a matched set of portraits of  
hopelessness and despair. I know it's hard on her to lose a  
patient, and her relationship with Walter has been noticeably  
stronger since her recovery all those months ago. I've been a  
little jealous, almost.

There was nothing we could say. We just sat there, and somehow  
we ended up holding hands accross the table, sharing each other's  
strength. When the voice over the intercom paged us to the ICU,  
I think I heard the double beat of my heart hitting the floor,  
followed by hers.

I convinced myself that I was going to have to face a world much  
darker for not having Walter Skinner in it. We took off for his  
floor, eschewing the elevator for the stairs.

^^^

Dr. Cabrera met us outside Walter's room with a strange look on  
her face, and it took me a moment to figure out what was wrong  
with it. The look she was wearing was a perplexed smile. I was  
having trouble breathing, myself, with my heart blocking my  
throat, but Scully managed to ask her what was going on.

"Your friend Mr. Skinner is a very lucky man. I don't know how,  
and I don't know why, but he's alive. I'll be honest with you,  
Dr, Scully. He flat-lined. I thought he was dead, and then he  
gasped and came back to life. I would call it a miracle, but I  
don't know how long it's going to last. He's actually somewhat  
cogent, though he still looks bad, and he may be in a lot of  
pain. I suggest you and Dr. Plant do some blood work to find out  
what the hell is going on."

With that, she nodded briefly at me and walked off. She actually  
seemed a little annoyed that Walter was still alive. The last  
two words of that thought echoed through my brain, waking up  
parts that had started to close themselves down in dismay.

Scully was walking into the room, and I followed her. A nurse  
was working over him, checking the various moinitors attached to  
him, and Scully set right to checking the read-outs. I just  
stood there staring at him. Alive. Asleep, but alive.

Scully left the room to call Dr. Plant, and I finally felt free  
to walk up to the bed. I placed my hand on Walter's leg. Alive.  
Warm. I couldn't help myself; I ran my hand as lightly as I  
could down his cheek, but he woke with a flinch. "Still hurts,"  
he whispered.

"Still alive," I muttered back. He opened his eyes and looked at  
me sharply. He opened his mouth, and I thought he was going to  
say something, but then he shook his head minutely and clamped  
his mouth shut. He looked at me again, then, and said, "Mulder,  
go home and get some sleep. I have a feeling I'm going to be  
here a while. Take Scully and make her sleep too." He closed  
his eyes again, and I could see him drifting off. More quietly  
he finished, "I'll be here when you return."

^^^

Dismissed as such, I could feel the stress of the day coming to  
take its toll. My head swam, and I sat down in the chair in the  
corner. I think I'd been asleep for about five minutes when  
Scully came in and shook me awake. I told her what Walter'd  
said, and she smiled. A real Scully smile. She helped me haul  
myself up, and we shuffled down to her car.

Neither of us felt like we could drive very far, so she drove us  
both to my place. I ushered her towards the mysterious new water  
bed, and I knew she was exhausted because she didn't even  
comment. I grabbed a pair of sweat pants to wear to bed to  
protect her dignity and headed to the bathroom and, swiftly  
thereafter, my own precious leather sofa. After that, for a  
while, there was nothing.

I woke up first and, after a thorough search of my cabinets, made  
some generic macaroni and cheese. I figured that if Scully was  
anywhere near as hungry as I was, she wouldn't be too picky. It  
turned out that the smell of the luscious cheese sauce woke her,  
and we ate in companionable silence. To my shame, I then  
realized for the first time that this might have been a little  
hard on her, dealing with all of this hospital business to soon  
after her injury in New York.

I tried to bring it up, but she didn't want to discuss it. I  
couldn't stop thinking about it. The two most important people  
in my life had both just barely managed to cheat death in as many  
months. And how many times have I done it myself? And Scully?  
I really feel like the black hole of disaster sometimes.

^^^

Scully and I headed back to the hospital to see Walter, and he  
was doing visibly better. He was still terribly weak, but his  
veins were receding from the surface. I don't think he was in as  
much pain either. Scully talked with Dr. Plant, and reported to  
me that the walls of carbon in his blood vessels had just  
dismantled themselves. They didn't know where the nanomachines,  
if that was what they had been, had gone, but they were at the  
very least inactive.

I went back to talk to Walter, and he'd already been told. He'd  
also already made the same assumption I made. That whoever was  
controlling these things had allowed him to live, for whatever  
reason, for however long. Personally, I was just glad that he  
was alive, so that we had time to find out who was behind this.  
I don't think he was taking the lack of control as  
philosophically, but then he never has. He's a man who belongs  
in control, and I'd do anything I could to return it to him.

^^^^^^

However, thanks to AD Kersh, I haven't been able to do much  
towards that end over the last three weeks. Neither has Agent  
Scully.

That night, we returned to our respective homes with a plan to  
call in sick the following day. When we called Kersch the next  
morning, we were informed that we were to fly out to Montana that  
afternoon to spend three weeks working on Domestic Terrorism.  
Read: shit piles. It's been a long three weeks. I kept up to  
date with Walter's condition each day while he remained in the  
hospital. I know they released him two weeks ago, but he hasn't  
taken or returned any of my calls. I don't think Scully's had  
any better luck.

Fortunately, we have a meeting with him this afternoon. His memo  
said he wanted to thank us in person for our help. Scully's  
uncharacteristically upbeat this morning, and I'm looking forward  
to the meeting myself. Maybe this is the time when things will  
move forward with him, professionally if not personally. I can  
handle that.

Even if we're not able to be together, the fact that the man I  
love happens to be the kind of man who acts on what he believes  
in, who refuses to give in to the dark forces around him-- Well,  
some days it gives me strength. It gives me hope for myself, and  
it gives me someone to believe in.

I don't know what I would do without that.


End file.
